


Setting Fire

by boxofrogs



Category: Assassin’s Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Desmond Lives, Discussion of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of addiction, Post-Canon, Recovering Smoker, Smoking, boys do cry, kind of, smoking relapse, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofrogs/pseuds/boxofrogs
Summary: Holed up in one of the Assassins’ less-shady safehouses, Shaun attempts to take a moment alone to process things. Or, more accurately, to smoke. Desmond is, as ever, utterly incapable of leaving him alone.
Relationships: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Comments: 18
Kudos: 81





	Setting Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A little drabble I’ve been working on about life after saving the world. I’m being deliberately vague about the details but Desmond lives and that’s what’s important. 
> 
> This fic is not especially heavy, but it does deal with themes that some readers may find difficult; mainly dealing with grief and relapsing while attempting to quit smoking. I’ve kept it light on the angst (because my poor heart can’t handle it) and hopefully it doesn’t come off as promoting smoking, or as being too harsh towards people with addictions.
> 
> Beta reading provided by the incredibly talented [flightlesskiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightlesskiwi/pseuds/Flightlesskiwi), fellow AC fan and shaundes appreciation club member ;D.

It’s bloody cold out on the fire escape, but Shaun finds that he can't bring himself to care. A wound he thought had scarred over has been torn open, and god, it hurts almost as badly as the first time but the pain is _good._

Desmond was _dead_. Shaun had known he’d never be okay with that. He’d made his peace with that fact, accepted it and done what he could to move on. He’d made himself an Assassin - a real one, a field agent. He’d done that for Desmond, or because of him. He’d spent every minute of training thinking of him; all the weight on those shoulders, all the bloody whining, and, at the end, that resigned, aching smile that made him really really miss the whining. He knew he should have been greatful for Desmond’s sacrifice, and yet he couldn’t help but hate the stupid dead bastard for it. 

And now here he is. _Alive._ Fucked up and burned and tired and much skinnier than what Shaun remembers but _alive_ and smiling at him sheepishly from under his stupid grungy hoodie. 

Needless to say, Shaun needs a cigarette. 

There’s the click of the lighter, the soft plosive of the cigarette catching, and it’s so familiar -another thing he never thought he’d feel again- he allows himself a moment to feel fucking bitter about it. He leans against the cold metal railing and takes a drag. 

“I thought you quit.”

Shaun doesn’t jump, but it’s mostly because he’s quite distracted by the dizzy rush of giving in to his nicotine addiction. He turns a little, and Desmond is there at his back, silent as a hawk on the approach. 

“I did.” He grunts, because he _had_ quit. He’d stopped. He’d promised himself he’d never have another, and when he hurt badly enough to want one Rebecca had been around to stop him. But that had been before the Brotherhood had split them up. Even with saving the world done there’s always more work still to do. 

Loneliness is not particularly great for recovering smokers. Grief is worse. 

He had spent so many months missing him, but right now Shaun can’t really help but wish Desmond would let him have this unpleasant little moment in peace. That, at least, is a familiar feeling. 

Desmond hums softly, in understanding or maybe just to show that he’s listening. Shaun isn’t used to it being so quiet between them. Back then there was always something to talk about; a mission, an ancestor, history or politics. There’s still plenty of history and politics. There are even missions and ancestors they could talk about, but those things seem so deeply unimportant compared to the warm light coming from inside the apartment and the heat he can feel from Desmond’s body. They’re not quite touching, but they’re just close enough for him to feel it. 

He takes another drag from his cigarette. Desmond draws up to stand beside him, leaning against the rail and tilting his head at him, just watching. Something about the gesture makes Shaun’s chest tighten, and he blows out the smoke on a sigh. 

And then Desmond reaches out and pinches his cigarette, because he is first and foremost a bastard. 

“I just want to try it.” Desmond murmurs, ignoring Shaun’s flabbergasted look. Before Shaun can steal it back he raises it to his lips and breathes in a lungful of smoke. 

The ensuing coughing fit is so prolonged and dramatic that Shaun would have struggled to believe it from anyone else. 

“Shit,” Desmond wheezes, clutching onto the railing for dear life, “hhh- _fuck_.”

“Who would have thought?” Shaun laughs, surprising himself, “The legendary Desmond Miles laid low by a paltry cigarette. The world weeps.” He feels rather smug, but he can’t help rubbing circles into Desmond’s back while his weak constitution recovers. 

“I’ve never smoked before!” Desmond tells him indignantly, still sounding a little rough in the throat. 

“Really?” Shaun asks, honestly quite surprised that a former bartender with a motorcycle licence who kills people for a living has never even taken a puff from a single cigarette. Desmond shakes his head, looking oddly pleased for someone who just hacked up a lung. 

“Well, don't start.” Shaun says snappishly, taking the cigarette back. Desmond gives it up easily, watching him snuff it against the rail. 

“I-“ Desmond says after a beat, and then stops. He was never great with words, but that was just another thing to love about him. All of Shaun’s own overly florid diction could never compare to Desmond’s clumsy, honest way with words. He had- _has_ so much bloody sincerity in him, simple deadpan humour, sharp wit, genuine warmth and love and kindness despite all the shit that’d happened to him. It makes Shaun feel terribly old, gigantic two year age difference and all. 

Desmond looks rather irritated with himself, stop-starting a few times as he searches for something to say. Shaun knows that there aren’t words for this; he’s spent too many long nights searching for some sentiment that can keep its meaning in the face of all that grief. He‘d let it settle, quiet and nameless, and rebuilt himself with it as a foundation. His life so far has been brief intermissions in between having the floor torn violently out from under him, but he’s never actually been _happy_ about it before. Surely this should make it go away. Surely they should go back to sarcastic banter and research and animus sessions and being a fucked up little facsimile of a family. Surely it shouldn’t matter now, but Desmond had _died_. Shaun had _mourned_ him. He’d felt the loss in a way he’d never known he was capable of. Maybe it had changed him. Made him into something Desmond couldn’t recognise anymore. 

Desmond meets his gaze, turmoil whirling in those stupid pretty brown eyes that he never thought he’d see again. He knows what Desmond’s looking for. Those perfect, golden words that will make him smile and laugh, ease his heart, make him say something terribly witty and sarcastic. 

Those perfect words don’t exist, but Shaun can see them in Desmond’s face; warmth and worry and something he can’t let himself name. Desmond can’t say that he understands, because he doesn’t, or that he’s sorry, because Shaun knows he’ll never really be sorry for what he had to do. But it’s enough. 

Shaun pulls Desmond in as close as he can, locking his arms around him and burying his face into his shoulder. Desmond doesn’t even hesitate to return the embrace; his arms tight around Shaun’s back and his fingers are curled loosely in his hair, and finally, finally, Shaun stops holding it all back. He stops thinking about his next mission, his next cigarette; all the ways he can burn himself away, and exhales. 

He has no idea how long they stand there for, measuring time in the cold that numbs his fingers. Desmond is a warm counterpoint, real and alive, heat seeping from his body into Shaun’s. His hold is gentle, but just firm enough to ground Shaun while he shakes like a leaf and lets himself cry for the first time in far too long. There's firmness to his chest, strength in his arms that’s new; it makes him wonder where Desmond has been and what he’s been doing, but somehow it seems wrong to ask. He thinks maybe they could hang in this moment forever. It’s really quite wonderful to be together without the apocalypse looming over them. 

He knows he looks like a mess when they finally part, eyes puffy and glasses so fogged up he can barely see. His world goes from cloudy to blurry when Desmond eases the frames away from his face, his hand against Shaun’s cheek the only solid point Shaun can find any more. Desmond pokes him in the head quite a few times trying to return his now-clean glasses, but he finds that he really, really doesn’t care. There’s this _look_ in Desmond’s eyes. The way they crinkle, gently, fondly; it’s kindness he doesn’t deserve from the man who saved the world, love that he realised months ago he couldn’t live without and knowing in a way he didn’t think he could be known. 

Shaun kisses him, slow and soft because he can’t say _thank you, I missed you, I love you_ outloud quite yet. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe Desmond already knows or maybe he doesn’t, but Shaun feels, with the cautious optimism of one continually shat on by fate, that this time he might have a little time to find the words. 

**Author's Note:**

> Big shoutout to [flightlesskiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightlesskiwi/pseuds/Flightlesskiwi) for beta reading, cheerleading, and supporting me all the way! Stay tuned for her new fic To the End (and maybe consider subscribing to her;)) and go read her other fic [With a Cup of Tea Wreathed in Steam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362958), which I’m sure you’ll love if you’ve enjoyed Setting Fire! 
> 
> (EDIT: links now fixed!)
> 
> (EDIT 2: To The End is now published, read it [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886186/chapters/52238938)!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Nice to know there are still ShaunDes fans out there in the year of our lord 2019.


End file.
